


Something

by sneetchstar



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mourning, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: After Romeo and Juliet's funeral, Rosaline wants to feel something besides pain and Benvolio just wants to feel something.





	Something

The knock is soft, almost tentative, but Rosaline hears it. She ignores it at first, but when it comes again, the fact that this second knock is more timid instead of more urgent piques her curiosity, and she lifts herself from the couch, dragging the quilt she has wrapped around her along with.

She blinks her bleary eyes when she finds herself staring into the equally-bleary face of Benvolio Montague. Without a word, she steps aside and lets him in, then closes the door behind him. She automatically locks the door, then returns to the couch.

“I…” he starts, but gives up.

“Yeah,” she agrees.

It has been a very draining day. A double funeral will do that to a person, especially if the deceased parties are one’s younger cousins who died unexpectedly in a horrific car accident while on their honeymoon.

Rosaline had gotten through it by shutting herself down, operating on automatic pilot. She would not be able to say who all was there, what anyone (including herself) was wearing, what they ate, or what color flowers were on Juliet’s closed casket.

Benvolio was similarly withdrawn, very uncharacteristic for him, struggling to keep his grief from turning to anger. He spoke very little, clenching his jaw until it was sore, because all he wanted to do was lash out at everyone.

Until he saw Rosaline. Rosaline, who had taken Romeo’s fancy until he met Juliet. Kind, fair, clever Rosaline, who was always willing to lend a hand and speak up against injustice.

When he saw her it looked like all the fire had been sucked right out of her. Somehow, she was the only person who did not make him instantly angry on sight. Seeing her so subdued made him feel a hollow sort of anger, an anger with no target. So he simply tucked it away with the rest of it.

For her part, Rosaline did take note of Benvolio. He is probably the only thing she can recall from the day’s events. Seeing him, the best man to her maid of honor at the wedding, reduced from the charismatic and charming man he was just weeks prior to this seething recluse did something to her heart. Perhaps broke it a little further, in a way she did not expect.

Two hours after the funeral, Benvolio’s rage melted into an equally-unpleasant numbness and he found himself in his car, driving towards Rosaline’s flat. He didn’t even really know why.

And when she opened the door to him, she felt no surprise at his sudden appearance.

“It’s unreal,” she says into the dimly-lit room, looking straight ahead. Her voice is soft and raspy.

“I know,” he replies. He turns to look at her and sees fresh tear tracks on her cheeks. If he had the capacity to think clearly, he would realize that it is good she is finally crying and wish that he could do so.

“She’s gone. _They’re_ gone.”

“Yeah.”

She shifts, facing him, and they stare at one another for a long moment. “It hurts. Inside. It just _hurts._ Why does it hurt so much?” she suddenly asks.

Without thinking, he pulls her into his arms. The blanket around her falls away as she willingly melts into him, clinging to him like he is the only thing anchoring her to reality.

He clings back much the same way. “I don’t know… I wish I did… or not. I don’t know,” he answers, his lips brushing her temple, her soft curls tickling his lips. “At least you can feel _something._ I can’t even do that,” he whispers.

“I’d rather feel nothing,” she replies, sobbing into his shirt. It’s a soft gray t-shirt, hastily thrown on over a pair of running pants. She is dressed similarly, except her pants are plaid flannel.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he protests, still tightly holding her. “It’s awful… like a dam that needs to burst but just… won’t.”

“It’s got to be better than how I’m feeling now,” she says, lifting her head to look at him. She can see the grief and pain in his eyes, but also the conflict within him as he struggles to try and allow himself to feel those things.

He’s also so, so close.

Benvolio stares back, looking down into Rosaline’s large brown eyes, now red-rimmed. Her plump lips are slightly parted, and her cheeks are wet, and she is simply the saddest, most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

He moves one hand from her back and gently wipes her cheeks with his thumb. Then, after a heartbeat’s hesitation, he succumbs, dropping his head and kissing her.

She immediately responds, kissing him back with as much fervor and passion as he would expect from her. Mouths open, sucking and lightly nipping at each other, they kiss with abandon, trying to push the grief and stress aside for at least a few minutes. He fists the back of her shirt, pulling her impossibly closer, hauling her onto his lap and leaning back against the end of the couch.

“Rosaline, I—”

“Don’t talk… don’t think,” she interrupts, kissing down his jaw and neck. “Just do.” She kisses his lips, briefly but deeply, and says, “Help me…”

“Help…?” he repeats, his head spinning as her hand snakes up under his shirt.

Rosaline leans back and looks down at him, her eyes clear but still sad. “Help me feel something besides pain,” she whispers.

Benvolio blinks once. “Help me feel _something,_ ” he replies, his voice breaking. She surges towards him again, crashing her lips against his. He groans and pushes forward, moving them so she is beneath him, hands shoving at clothes to gain more access to skin.

His hand finds a half-covered breast as his lips find hers once more, his thumb sweeping across a nipple, feeling it harden under the caress. He feels her hand slide down his back and shove under the waistband of his pants to close over his ass and squeeze.

He grunts and pushes against her, letting her feel the hardness of him between her thighs. She hums and arches into him in response.

He pushes her shirt higher and moves his body lower, lips closing over a nipple in a sucking kiss. When she moans, he lightly bites, then softly licks it, drawing a gasp from her as well.

She writhes, further enticing him, encouraging him, asking for more. He responds to her request, his hand slipping into her pants. He groans when his hand finds nothing but skin beneath the soft flannel, no second barrier blocking his fingers from finding their target.

She mewls when he touches her, two fingers sliding into her hot, wet center. “Oh…” she gasps a moment later.

On his way back up to her lips, a sliver of reality slices into his brain. “Ros… condom,” he says, his lips barely leaving her skin. “I don’t have one.”

“Are you clean?” she asks, tugging his hair, pulling his face back to hers.

His fingers stop moving and he lifts his head. “Of course.”

“So am I. And I’m on birth con—”

Her words are cut off by his lips, and his fingers resume their sweet torture below. She begins shoving at her pants and he withdraws his hand to help, pulling them down and almost off. They are still wrapped around one ankle, but she doesn’t care as she’s now tugging the drawstring of his running pants untied.

Benvolio pushes both pants and boxer briefs down just enough, his cock springing free of its confines. Rosaline barely has a chance to get a good look before she feels it slide into her.

“Ohh…” she moans, lifting her hips to meet him and moving the leg not pressed against the back of the couch wider to allow him to go deeper.

“Oh God, Rosaline,” he groans, moving hard and fast, instinctively knowing that this punishing pace is what they both want. Need.

Her fingernails dig into his skin, but he barely notices. He places biting kisses on the side of her neck that will leave darker marks on her dark skin, but she doesn’t care.

She reaches up, pulling his face towards hers, needing to kiss him, needing this closeness, this connection with another living, breathing person.

She begins whimpering, her body trembling beneath his, and he lets go of the tenuous hold he had on his control. A moment later she tears her lips from his, crying out with her orgasm.

He follows almost immediately, surging into her with an intensity that might worry him if he were in a clearer state of mind. After a few seconds, his body relaxes again, and he slumps over her with a sigh.

They lie, entwined, on Rosaline’s sofa, for a full minute before reality begins to creep back in.

“Benvolio,” she says, her fingers idly picking through his hair.

He lifts his head and stares down at her, not knowing what to say. He considers apologizing. He considers thanking her. Instead, he simply replies, “Rosaline.”

“Will you stay?” The request is quiet, plaintive, and exactly what he wanted to hear.

He softly, sweetly kisses her lips and answers, “Yes. For as long as you need. Or want.”

xXx

Some time later, in the small hours, Benvolio finally cries. Rosaline holds him, safe and secure in her bed, in the comforting circle of her arms, as he openly weeps on her shoulder. She doesn’t bother with any words of comfort or reassurance; she does not have any and he does not need them. She is simply there for him as he was for her.

“I’ll always be here,” she whispers, voicing her thoughts into the darkness.

He nods against her shoulder, not able to speak but understanding her intent exactly and returning it in kind.

She kisses the top of his head and he knows she has understood him.

They drift to sleep together just as the sky begins turning light in the east.


End file.
